


when is a monster not a monster?

by vouloirs



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 01:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17798858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vouloirs/pseuds/vouloirs
Summary: "why are you and villanelle so interested in each other?"a brief meeting between eve and villanelle post-s1.





	when is a monster not a monster?

_ “Why are you and Villanelle so interested in each other?” _

 

The question echoes through her head, as if it’s bouncing off the walls and it can’t get out. A fly trapped against the glass. It would help things a lot if she knew the answer to that bloody question.

 

The knife twists between her fingers, a mindless action as she stares at the photos on the wall. A spiderweb of red thread, marking potential sightings of a lethal blonde across Europe.  _ Deranged _ , they call her. But that’s just because they don’t see the method in her madness. It’s hard to say that she does, definitively. She does see the beauty in it, though. The feral elegance in the way Villanelle carves out an escape route for herself, a caged animal that will not stop raging against the bars until she breaks out. 

 

It clatters against the hardwood floor.  _ God _ . She has got to stop getting distracted. It’s hard enough to sift out the broad strokes of Villanelle’s plan without being drawn back into that moment.  _ That _ moment. With her hungry animal eyes glittering and the knife barely breaking skin in the hollow of her throat. The way the corners of her lips lift up into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. And then the next, where the tables are turned and her eyes are a whole new level of  _ wild _ , a knife with Eve’s own hand wrapped around it as it settles home. Even monsters bleed.  

 

Animal instinct, they call it. Fight or flight.

 

And now she’s blown back into the wind. A wounded animal tearing up the world around her in an effort to stay hidden. So she went home — Villanelle didn’t want to be found anytime soon, and it wouldn’t do either of them good to rush things, anyway. Took a flight back to London and rented out a new apartment, somewhere clean and fresh and off Villanelle’s radar. 

 

It’s been weeks, and Eve told herself she shouldn’t start the hunt, shouldn’t light the flame of her obsession again. But Eve also told herself to  _ shut up _ , that she needed to find her. No one else could, and no one else deserved to get caught in that crossfire.

 

She sighed, bending down to pick up the knife and set it down on the table. Poured herself a glass of bourbon and sank into her armchair. Maybe it would just be smarter to drop this all before it got out of hand.  _ Who was she kidding? _ It was already way more than she was prepared to deal with. Her eyes flutter shut, only to be startled wide again by a creak in the hallway. Probably just the wood pressing against itself or something, Eve. Calm the fuck down. This damn paranoia was going to be the end of her. 

 

She can’t help the need to  _ check _ , but she forced herself to move into the hallway unarmed. Baby steps. As she turned the corner towards her bedroom, a gust of wind blew a familiar scent. She could’ve sworn her windows were closed, but.. Maybe she’d just forgotten.

 

“Hello, Eve.”  _ Fuck _ . That stupid smirk on her face stung enough for Eve to wish she’d had her knife in her hand again. 

 

“How.” She crossed her arms tight over her chest as she stares at the woman seated on her bed, as if that would help stifle the thrumming of her heart. 

 

“C’mon, sweetheart. You were looking for me too, weren’t you?” Villanelle  _ tsk _ s, a mock pout on lightly glossed lips.

 

Eve finds herself backing slowly against the door, a show of her better judgment. Her eye catches on the edge of the large satin box laid out on the bed. “What do you want?”

 

She laughs, a hungry, wild sound as she lifts the lid Eve’s very clearly fixated on. “To give you your present. Valentine’s day.” She blows a kiss over in Eve’s direction. “Go on, put it on.”

 

Eyebrows scrunch together as Eve debates her options. It’s not like Villanelle to leave her a  _ way out _ . She takes a cautious step towards the bed and her jaw  _ drops _ . A deep midnight blue gown, cut down with a plunging neckline. A sharp exhale of breath as she lifts the dress, momentarily forgetting how  _ insane _ this whole situation is. 

 

“What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?” She forces an edge of steel into her voice, pushing back against her instinct to melt against Villanelle’s emanating desire.

 

A flash of a gun barrel inside her suit jacket is all Eve needs to kick herself in motion. That, and the widening pit of  _ want _ in her chest. She makes a show of reluctance before slipping her tee off in one liquid movement, stepping gingerly into the dress. It takes faith, and a degree of certainty, to turn her back to Villanelle. “Zip me.”

 

The cold touch of her hands makes Eve gasp involuntarily, which in turn seems to amuse Villanelle. “Actually.. I’ve changed my mind. Let’s stay in.” She runs her fingers down Eve’s exposed back, relishing the vulnerability Eve has presented without a fight. 

 

“ _ Fuck _ .” 

 

“Well, if that’s what you want,  _ baby _ .”

 

It was only a harsh whisper under her breath, but of course Villanelle hears it. It’s a wonder she hasn’t pointed out the jackhammer pace of her heart as yet another way to show Eve just how outclassed she is. Her cheeks flush, caught in a trap once more. 

 

_ What she wants _ . What she wants is to be devoured by the strength of Villanelle’s hunger, to be touched and  **seen** . To be understood so wordlessly as only Villanelle seems able to do.

  
She pivots wordlessly, kicking the garment off and straddling Villanelle on the bed in a rush of adrenaline. Reaches out and pulls her in for a kiss and is almost  _ surprised _ that she doesn’t taste any blood. Even monsters are gentle, sometimes. Especially when they are met with the one thing they’ve been craving. 


End file.
